Foes eBook

“Aye, Glenfernie! And after that they never
came to my mither’s again. But I marked
them aft when they didna mark me, in the glen.
Aye, and I marked them ance in the little glen, and
there they were lovers surely—­gin kisses
and clasped arms mak lovers! She wad come by
herself to their trysting, and he wad come over the
muir and down the crag-side. It was na my business
and I never thocht to tell. But eh! all ill will
out, says my mither!”

CHAPTER XVIII

The early sunlight fell soft and fine upon the river
Seine and the quays and buildings of Paris. The
movement and buzz of people had, in the brightness,
something of the small ecstasy of bees emerging from
the hive with the winter pall just slipped. Distant
bells were ringing, hope enticed the grimmest poverty.
Much, after all, might be taken good-naturedly!

A great, ornate coach, belonging to a person of quality,
crossed the Seine from the south to the north bank.
Three gentlemen, seated within, observed each in his
own fashion the soft, shining day. One was Scots,
one was English, and the owner of the coach, a Frenchman.
The first was Ian Rullock.

“Good weather for your crossing, monsieur!”
remarked the person of quality. He was so markedly
of position that the two men whom he had graciously
offered to bring a mile upon their way, and who also
were younger men, answered with deference and followed
in their speech only the lines indicated.

“It promises fair, sir,” said Ian.
“In three days Dunkirk, then smooth seas!
Good omens everywhere!”

“You do not voyage under your own name?”

“After to-morrow, sir, I am Robert Bonshaw,
a Scots physician.”

“Ah, well, good fortune to you, and to the exalted
person you serve!”

The coach, cumbrous and stately, drawn by four white
horses, left the bridge and came under old palace
walls, and thence by narrow streets advanced toward
the great house of its owner. Outside was the
numerous throng, the scattering to this side and that
of the imperiled foot travelers. The coach stopped.

“Here is the street you would reach!”
said the helpful person of quality.

A footman held open the door; the Scot and the Englishman
gave proper expression of gratitude to their benefactor,
descended to earth, turned again to bow low, and waited
bareheaded till the great machine was once more in
motion and monseigneur’s wig, countenance, and
velvet coat grew things of the past. Then the
two turned into a still and narrow street overhung
by high, ancient structures and roofed with April
sky.

The one was going from Paris, the other staying.
Both were links in a long chain of political conspiring.
They walked now down the street that was dark and
old, underfoot old mire and mica-like glistening of
fresher rain. The Englishman spoke: